Irelia Shorts
by Owl Satire
Summary: A series of shorts on the introspective of Irelia's life with her blades and memories of her family.
1. Blades

**Make sure to check all the chapters! I write these on whims so they tend to be shorter.**

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There was a little-known fact about Ionia's famed Guard Captain. It wasn't anything that changed her performance, but it was something that caused many people to wonder just was goes on in her head.

Sometimes her men will pass her office and see her just sitting at her desk, hands crossed in front of her with the sourest expression on her face. Sometimes she glares acidic holes in her desk, other times it looks like she's combating hemorrhoids. The guardsmen chalked it up to stress, nerves, overwork, and other mundane things like that because Irelia was prone to such things.

But was it, really?

Irelia heard four more voices than was considered normal, but she wasn't crazy. A scraping sound in her mind like the strained belly laugh of a chainsaw echoed,

'Are you sure you're not crazy, honey?'

Irelia snorted at the humming voice in her mind, shooting a glare to the blades relaxing on the side of her desk.

People often thought that the Will of the Blades was so admirable, so glamorous. Those people didn't have to deal with four talking weapons on a daily basis.

"_I just love how supportive you are of me._" She grumbled to the blades, causing laughter to erupt from them (the beautiful cacophony that is four shrieking violins and an armor rack that was knocked over).

Training her men, battling on the Fields, eating dinner, spending time with friends, all experiences in her life have been accented with four metallic voices since the day Soraka saved her life.

"Talking blades, who'd've guessed?" She mused, flicking through some paperwork. "You know, sorcerers used to try very hard to imbue intelligent souls into weapons. They never tried dying and using the weapons as a soul anchor, did they? Works like a charm, but you are all still dumber than a stack of rocks."

One of the blades snorted at her, something impossible for an object with neither a nose nor a mouth, but so it was.


	2. Mercy

Death never got easier for Irelia, even on the Fields of Justice.

She felt her life slip away as she endured attack after relentless attack from her foes.

Scenes of the war would flash through her mind at these moments. The first man she ever killed, his face, his allies faces as she continued to cut them down almost mindlessly. The fires and the cries of the children burned her thoughts.

Then the darkest moment would rear its ugly head. Her own death, her soul slipping through her fingers.

Finally, before it was all over, before the final blow was dealt, a quiver echoed through her mind. It was hard for _them_, too, but she should not be forced to relive her death at the hand of that foul curse.

Her enemies and allies watch wordlessly and her blades turn on her, impaling her at the same time.

"_I'm so sorry._" It's and older woman's voice from one of her blades, apologetic, and softer than a mother's whisper.

Her blades all agreed on the mercy kill, it's the least Irelia deserved.


	3. Lesson

Irelia remembered sitting in her older brother's lap while their father spoke about the Hiten Style.

"The Hiten Style is pure dedication to your weapon. Treat your weapon like a lover or a sibling. The weapon's well-being comes first. Their will is your action. You are the avatar of the battle your weapon was meant for and you carry out everything they are born to do." Lito lifted one of the four of his iconic blades to show to his children.

"Your weapon has a will and a voice. They have a personality. They are as much a part of you as your own arms. To truly be in tune with the Hiten Style is to obey the urges of your weapon. The weapon knows where to cut and how to flay the flesh. You will execute that. That is how the Hiten Style executes the precision that other blade styles envy."

Irelia remembered hearing Zelos gasp behind her when the blade hummed, it was a low vibration, she remembered the smile on her father's face as he listened. "This blade is the youngest of mine. He often gets in fights with the other three."

"What's his name?"

The humming stopped with Irelia's innocent, child-like question.

"I cannot tell you his name, dearheart." Her father's voice was stern, almost stony, but not punishing. "Knowing names are knowing power over the named. When you finally get your own weapons, the Hiten Style will allow you to speak to them. They will give you their name and you will learn every aspect about them, but you must never give their name away. It will break your bond with your weapon and allow others to wield their will."

Zelos was glued to their father's lecture, but Irelia's eyes wandered back to that humming blade.

—-

Years later, those same blades had trusted Irelia with their names.

She rose up from what the others thought was her death, Soraka at her side, the blades rising with her. She did not see Soraka's face or the faces of her fellow Ionians, her mind only echoed.

"We know you not, child, but we will! You will live this fight and we will live alongside you. For now, we thirst for vengeance and blood. Wield us, Daughter of Lito! Wield us and bring righteous indignation upon those who sought to draw the very soul out of the Hiten Style!" The blade whom she would later know as Gilleig'a shouted at Irelia fiercely.

The blades tugged at the young girl, she could feel the flaying fury from Gilleig'a, Zhu Rong burned at her mind and Chang'e and Wagner twisted furiously and relentlessly.

She obeyed this will, remembering her father's lesson:

'_Their will is your action. You are the avatar of the battle your weapon was meant for and you carry out everything they are born to do._'


End file.
